


Keeper of Darkness

by FrancesBartlett



Category: Original Work
Genre: Action/Adventure, Alternate Universe - Fantasy, F/F, F/M, Fantasy, M/M, Magic, Romance
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-01-19
Updated: 2018-01-21
Packaged: 2019-03-06 18:21:54
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 12,638
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13416966
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FrancesBartlett/pseuds/FrancesBartlett
Summary: Layna Stuart has lost everything to the Hytherans, a wicked race of immortal beings who bend the hands of fate to their liking. In the aftermath of a civil war against a Hytheran who overthrew her mortal king before his own downfall, Layna has returned home to find her younger sister. Though what she returns to is not what she is expecting- a house turned to ash and her young Aylia Stuart nowhere to be seen. With rumor that she was taken in by the enchanted Hythwood forest that separates her realm from the Hytheran land of Elaria, Layna pushes aside her hatred and fear of the immortals and journeys to Elaria to find her. What awaits her on the other side is not Aylia, but a Hytheran male who forces her into a bargain to save not only her life, but the whole of existence.





	1. Prologue

Staring out into the forest, moss-covered and mist filled, he waited. Through the whispering breeze he could feel the push and pull of the fog. The hushed, stagnant air gave the forest a ghastly ambiance and the groan from old elms left a chill on his skin. 

It was an ancient place; the gateway to some forgotten realm, a labyrinth of lost and wicked souls. The pathway to the only thing left in all of the world that could save him, save his people. That thing, that person, was somewhere on that other side- unreachable, untouchable, crying out.

In the recent years that felt like lulling moments to his immortal soul, he had stolen fleeting nights, toeing the line that told of where his realm ended and the Forest of Man began. Pacing that line, tugging on some distant and illusory twine, he could feel her in the distance, trapped in the mortal lands where insignificant humans led insignificant lives.

Not her. 

No, never her. She was wild and strong and full of light- he could feel her power curling, unknowingly, down the twine that tied her untamed soul to his. He could feel her, yearning for freedom, for a home she had never known but longed for.

And so he waited. For two decades, he waited.


	2. Part One

_Part One_

* * *

_**HEART OF ICE** _


	3. Chapter 1

Layna saw sunlight for the first time in weeks.

Clear, cloudless, infinite sunlight. The threaded canopy of elm trees and blankets of mist finally cleared in the limpid daybreak of morning, gifting her with the grounding image of the morning sun shimmering through the thinly wooded grove. Morning had never looked so beautiful, every droplet of springtime dew turning the petals of the harebells to glistening jewels. Even the murmuring whisper of early morning songbirds brought her further away from the darkness of the Hythwood and closer to the distant sound of voices, of activity and life.

Weeks; Layna almost teared up at the sight of fresh sprouts and budding green grasses beneath her feet, so comparatively stark to the mire-like labyrinth of the Hythwood. The elms crested away and made way for thin stalks of birch and the occasional century oak, gifting the woodlands with the vastness of a lightly forested meadow. 

Somewhere in the distance was a brook, meandering through overturned river-rock and slick beds of moss.

So wholly different from the realm she had left behind- all flatlands and fields of heather, all strewn stones and gravel landscapes. But here, life felt different. It felt new and vast and somehow immortal; the world rising to greet another springtime morning as though there would be a thousand more in the endless millenia to come. As though there failed to be any shred of pain or darkness in all of Elaria, the everlasting domain of the Hytherans.

How she envied them. How she hated them.

The Hytherans.

Layna couldn’t purge their existence from her thoughts despite every steadying step she took, bringing her further away from the Hythwood and closer to the Hytherans who lived in every beautiful and wicked stretch of Elarian land.

A year ago Layna believed she had rid herself of their cruelty and timelessness. Orwynn Greaver was dead- that should have ended the need to ever see, hear, or speak to a Hytheran again in her short, mortal existence. That should have given rise to a quiet, tender life spent watching over her younger sister.

But instead it had gifted her with pain, the dull throb in her lower legs evidence enough of just how terrible Hytherans could be.

Layna had been travelling from sunup to sundown and knew she was overdue for a much needed break. A distant voice, nestled deep in her tired bones, told her to surge on. 

So Layna had hurried, forgoing the apprehensive comfort of a distant campfire, rushing through the fog-covered woodlands in hope of finding the city that echoed in her soul.

She had listened to that voice for as long as she could remember, using it as the guiding embrace during her time spent travelling through shires and villages. It had brought her to where she stood today, now on the bank of that murmuring creek that offered some respite in the light of dawn.

A whispering mist threaded through the trees, not dense or hazy, but soft as it cloaked the world in an inviting light. Pools of sunlight dappled the forest floor, flooding down from the sparse tree canopies. The world was shrouded in shallow lagoons of warmth, breaking up the air that was still tenderly cold from early spring. All around the forest was ripe with the scent of freshly churned earth and honeyed blossoms that dangled from the low-lying shrubs and hanging branches. Shifting breezes brought the forest to life as delicate warbles and whooping birdsong engulfed the morning air.

There had been a storm, Layna could tell, as she dropped down beside the bloated creek and looked up at the few passing glimpses of the sky. Cloudless, a heavy shade of deep blue despite the softness of morning. How peculiar, her thoughts hummed, that the rain had not been felt in the Hythwood. But then, the rain would have driven away the primordial fog that lingered in heavy hands around the warded forest. The Goddess, the Mother, would never allow the mist to be cleared, for fear of Her mortal children falling prey to the Hytherans.

Layna knew the tales as well as anyone. The protecting, matronly love of the Mother kept Layna’s people safe. Or at least, it should have. 

In the end, Hytherans such as Orwynn Greaver had thwarted Her ancient grasp on the world and outwitted the labyrinth of the Hythwood, laying claim on the mortal world. 

In the end, the Hytherans had stolen, butchered, and burned everything she had ever loved. 

In the end, Layna knew she would take back what was rightfully hers and burn every Hytheran to the godsdamned ground, all the way to the nightmarish land of Criedell where all wicked and wild things went after death. Where all Hytherans belonged.

A roaring sweep of wind brushed past, caressing the loosely curling tendrils of her hair. The deep shade of red was out of place in the tender colorings of the forest. It almost seemed wrong for her to be there, dressed in the austere brown leathers worn by the few women who served under the Mortal Kingsguard. 

This ethereal thicket, placed right on the edge of the Hythwood, was a place of legend. Layna had half expected to see slender, naked Hytheran maidens, untouched by men and pain, dancing with harebells threaded into their blonde hair. It was almost comical in its tranquility.

The rigid intensity of her leathers and tattered brown cloak were enough to shroud Layna’s youth and make her seem years past her true age of nineteen. The dirt that smeared her face and thorns that marred her tightly fitted trousers were also enough to tack years onto her travel weary appearance.

Her wavering reflection in the rushing water of the creek did nothing for her morale. She looked awful- her charmingly wide face had grown slender and sallow from her days of foodless travel and the brilliant, molten gleam in her brown eyes was reduced down to a flickering ember. Layna could hardly recognize the face that stared back at her. Would her sister even recognize her? Layna didn’t want to think on that. Would, maybe, if- they were not the finite and solid words that she needed.

Splashing away the water, Layna raked at her reflection and sent it scattering. She needed a bath, and wanted it more than anything, but knew it was just a waste of precious time. How long would she have in her endeavor to find her sister? How long would Layna, or her younger sibling, survive in a world of masked beasts and wicked beauty?

Layna’s scowling face was a lingering image in the languid creek as she pushed herself up and crossed over, hissing at the cool bite of water through her boots, trousers, and the woolen stockings she wore beneath it all.

Her legs were tender and the arctic kiss of the water, still cool from winter, was enough to send shooting pains up to her thighs. She rarely felt anything in her legs anymore, besides the dull and thrumming pain that came from every rainy morning or every winter stricken breeze.

_ Hold out, you’re almost there,  _ the voice seemed to purr between the trees as Layna tugged down the cowl of her cloak and surged on.

She wouldn’t last in Elaria long. Her humanity was too evident. She lacked the graceful height, the immortal beauty, the everlasting poise and fabled pointed ears that set Hytherans apart from humans. Layna was small and weak, her body having betrayed her during her three years of captivity.

She would stand out in a Hytheran village. Layna didn’t know why she thought any of this could work-  _ would  _ work. And as the looming visage of a drowsy little town grew on the horizon, as a dirt road took shape beneath her boots, as the yawning voices of merchants and cries of farm birds danced between the trees, Layna felt herself tremble.

A pendant, bouncing atop her harsh leathers, grew warm at the buzz of early morning activity. The city was rising and readying for what Layna could only understand as market day. The day that ushered in a new week.

“Oi!” A voice called out from behind, a lashing whip making her turn with a start. Her heart was thrumming in her chest, the heartbeats almost violent as she scrambled off the main path. A hooded man sneered down at her from atop his mount, the horse dragging a covered cart as they headed toward the village.

“Ancient bastard,” Layna whispered under her breath as her muddied hand tugged down the hood of her cloak. With the practiced nuance of a travelling soldier, Layna twisted her face into strewn granite and trudged forward.

The dirt path slowly melded into a cobblestoned street, covered in stagnant puddles of day old rainwater that had yet to dry up under the warmth of the sun. The birches gave way to crumbling waist-high walls that did nothing but define the wilderness from the town. 

Sagging homes, shops, and taverns groaned with the bustling activity of market day. The creek, meandering through the heart of the city, was nothing more than a murky stretch of river that had grown dirty under the hands of the townspeople. 

No one threw her a second glance, as they were rushed to set up and be ready by the time the public woke, hungry to spend their weekly allowances on things they rarely needed.

Layna had been one of those people once, in years that felt like a lifetime ago. Her bedroom had been filled with carved figurines, books about old heros, and the odds and ends that she had come across on market day. She had been one of those people, willing to throw away a weeks worth of work a carved statue of the goddess Rulena, or a new throwing knife to play with.

Now, she didn’t even acknowledge the people who cried out for her to buy their wares. Instead she tucked her fiery hair behind her ears and kept her head down.

She didn’t even know how to start-  _ where  _ to start. Layna already caught the eyes of a few who dared to linger on her, her stature small and clumsy in comparison to their own. These people, lowly farmers and tailors and blacksmiths, were far more beautiful than she would ever be. But Layna had given up on beauty years ago.

A tavern, Layna knew her best bet would be on a tavern open at this ungodly hour. A place where she could glean the information she needed and be on her way by noon. But the words were what alluded her. If she asked about the whereabouts of a human girl, she would be dead before nightfall.

A young girl; slender, small, yellow-haired, and with blue-gray eyes. That was all she needed to inquire about. A young girl who went by the name of Aylia, aged roughly around seventeen, though her birthday was sometime in late spring, meaning she could be eighteen by now. Layna had lost track of the days, unsure if summer lingered around or was still a distant hum. But if Aylia was in Elaria, as the people of Coarshire had claimed, then she would have had to pass through this town.

The further she went from the beckoning hands of the merchants, the more she could smell the stench of the slums. 

The town’s underbelly. 

If Layna possessed any wealth she would have bribed the information from a lowly street urchin, but her money had no use in Elaria. Not when mortal coins were made from cold iron- the metal of humanity, of the weak and the powerless, that warded against magic users.

The pendant around her neck glimmered in the morning light, as though it offered itself up for her to sell. No… she couldn’t part with it, not when it was the last lingering piece of her mother. The man that had found her, the man that had raised her and who she had known as her father, made Layna promise to never part with the necklace. She couldn’t help but feel her mother residing in the uncut ruby that seemed to swirl with shades of red and black.

_ Here,  _ her heart sang as she stopped at the stoop of a dilapidated tavern, the wooden sign creaking in the soft breeze of morning. Voices and soft song came from inside- revellers from the night before were still inside, still celebrating.

Layna had found her chance. All having overindulged in the wickedness of night… none would remember her after she pried her information and left.

Steeling herself and honing her courage, Layna pushed on the tavern door and ducked inside.

It was the longest moment of her life- having her eyes adjust to the dim light of the tavern, rife with the stench of piss and bad ale. A few voices halted at her entrance, lifting their heads from their horns of ale before murmuring and focusing back on their day old breads and games of dice.

Sliding into a seat near a darkened corner, Layna kept her hood over her mortal features. She drank in the warmth from the nearby hearthfire.

“What’ll it be?” A faceless barkeep approached, his hands working to polish a metal tankard for ale.

“Anything for free?” Layna asked with a snide smile though her gentle humor, meant to soften up the impassive keeper, was dry.

“Free? Only free thing ‘ere is a boot to the ass when yer kicked to the gutter.” 

The smile wilted from her face, replaced with only a whisper of practiced charm. A muscle feathered in her jaw at the remark but she took a deep breath through her nose and sat back in her seat. Her lack of response was enough to send away the barkeep, grumbling under his breath.

With him gone Layna could now survey the tavern.

A lonely lute player plucked away at strings in the opposite corner, her fingers moving like the languid vines of some dark plant. At the counter, the barkeep took his station and spoke in a low tone to a hooded man. Something gleamed in his stoic eyes- hope? Optimism? Layna couldn’t tell in the low light. The hooded man made no move beyond lifting his tankard to his hidden lips and taking a long sip.

Scattered around were small parties of men and women, all wearing threadbare and fetid clothing, all mulling over their ale and untouched food. A few were routy enough to make Layna detest the hauling mugs of ale that everyone drank.

The few lonely souls, the few who would likely divulge information without causing too much fuss, must have parted hours ago, before dawn could illuminate their nightly indulgence.

“Care to place a bet?” A voice loitered near her ear as hot breath snuck beneath the collar of her leather tunic.

“I haven’t a coin to my name,” she murmured without even offering a glance.

“Is that so? Then what about this here gold string along your neck?” Layna’s eyes, dark in the candlelight of the tavern, drifted over her shoulder. 

Layna caught a glimpse of the game being wagered on- a set of cups, one faded dice, carved from the bone an animal she could not discern. A game not of chance, not a game of skill.

The man at her back looked to be five years older than herself, though Layna knew looks were deceiving when it came to Hytherans. Who knew how old he was? She didn’t want to think on it and instead shifted to face him.

“What do you say? Care to place a bet?” His voice wrapped around her like velvet. He wasn’t hooded, not like most of the people in the tavern, but a deep, royal blue cloak was pinned at his shoulders. The cleaned look of his face and the way that an undecorated sword hung at his belt made Layna uneasy.

“And what are you placing down as your bet?” She asked as she craned see two men, both older, both with blue cloaks and blades at their sides. Neither had smiles in their eyes, not like the one who spoke to her. They were all lightly armored and gleaming in the candlelight.

She fought to swallow down the hatred that was rising up. These were the people who had killed her mortal king. These were the people who had butchered the man she called father and a boy she had known as her brother. These were the people who had taken her sister from her.

“Coins. My bewitching smile,” he said with a widening grin. Layna felt bile rise in her throat. She hated cocky people, and this man was no exception.

“Information. I’ll wage my necklace if you offer me information.” Layna lifted from her seat and gingerly paced over to the bench, seating herself across from the man at the rounded table. His smile grew wicked with interest.

“And how do you know we’ve got the type of information you’re looking for?” The eldest spoke up, his voice a rough testament to his age. They were all well spoken, clean, and in the care of fine garments. Who were these men? Soldiers? Sellswords? Or… 

“I guess we’ll just have to find out.” Layna’s eyes were on the young brown-haired man who still grinned wildly at her from across the table.

“The game is Fate,” the final man spoke, his face only aged with a hint of wrinkles. He was beautiful in a somber sort of way, his green eyes like a hushed sea of springtime grass. He looked at Layna and saw something that made him look away. “Best of four. Person with the most points, wins. Place down your bets.”

The man had nothing to set down beyond his word, offering up a sheathed dagger as payment. Layna, in response, moved her trembling hands to her necklace. She had never taken it off, not for bathing or anything, and her heart screamed against it. The clasp unhinged and something in her seemed to unhinge with it, her body shivering with a force that only she could feel. At the counter, the hooded man went rigid before setting down his tankard.

The gold chain and ruby pendant gleamed like liquid fire.

“Ladies first,” the brunette said with a hum as he pushed the cup and die toward her.

Layna wearily scooped up the cup, glancing once more at the hooded man who was staring directly at her. She could feel her heart stop before an urging hand under the table coaxed her into shaking the cup. With her fingers as a cover, Layna rattled the tavern with the sound of the bone die hitting the wooden cup.

Overturned, she saw a single red spot.

“One…?” Layna looked up to see the brunette smirking at her from across the table.

“Don’t worry darling, there’s always the next few rounds,” he crooned before snatching the cup and game piece. Beneath the table he shook and shook and shook until finally spilling out the bone die with a silent look on his face.

“Six,” he sighed and Layna could feel her blood begin to heat. She could not lose her necklace, not when it was the only thing left.

“Give me that,” Layna’s snarl rippled through the three men as she lunged over the table and snatched the cup and die from his hands.

“My, my, what a temper on you. The game isn’t over quite yet.”

Layna hated them. She hated every single faceless, nameless figure in this tavern, in this town, in this realm. She hated them.

“Four,”she said with some semblance of relief. He only needed to roll low, and there could be a close match. But she could still win. Hopefully.

“Five to six, what an interesting hand Fate has dealt us.” Layna cooled her ire and watched him under the shadow of her hood. He stared right back, his hands pulling the cup close to him as it drifted beneath the table and began to shake. Layna glanced at the counter once more but found the man gone- though his tankard was still there, unpaid for.

“Six!” His eyes gleamed and Layna could feel the attention of the other two men on her. Something seemed off as he passed the cup over for her to shake. Five to twelve. Her heart was a trembling beat in the hollowness of her body.

Layna offered up a silent prayer to her goddess, a merciful deity who watched over mortals and their realm. Lydia had failed her time and time again, but Layna needed her now for a task so small she knew the goddess could not refuse.

“T-two,” Layna stared at the painted die and felt her mouth go dry. Eight to twelve. She  _ had  _ to roll a six, but even then, if he rolled small numbers it would be a tie. Would her prayers go unanswered, as they always had?

Layna felt a shadow appear at her back.

“Interesting,” he hummed before snagging the cup and die, curling his gloved fingers around the wooden mug and drawing it near. Layna’s eyes narrowed. At her back she felt wisps of cold air brushing along the threadbare fabric of her cloak as if drawing her in toward the game. Urging her, almost.

“I suppose the Mother is smiling down on me today.” A six rested beneath the cup. Layna ground her teeth before fading back into her seat, feeling outside her own body. “Shall we call it a game, darling?” He drawled.

“No,” Layna found herself saying with no understanding as to why. She had lost but- cool air careened in and drifted across her cheeks as if in affirmation. Layna saw something in the way he looked at her, as though he had predicted this outcome.

“Lets see what final hand Fate has for you,” his tone was that of someone victorious, of someone who enjoyed smearing salt into the bleeding wounds of others.

With her hands on the wooden cup, she shook until her arm grew stiff.

“A five! Good roll, but not good enough, I’m afraid.” His gloved fingers reached out toward her necklace, but Layna’s hands snatched it up before he could even graze it. At her sides were the other two men who were now placing their swords in grabbing range.

“The game isn’t over yet,” Layna threw her head in the direction of the mug. “Let’s see what final hand Fate has for you,  _ darling _ .”

“Very well.” In his hand was the wooden cup, drawn close and almost beneath the table as he gave a final shake. When the contents spilled, Layna smirked against the cool air around her.

“A six… how exceedingly lucky.”

“So it would seem,” he said in response as he reached for the necklace once more. Layna’s closed fist slammed down on his hand, smashing against the leather of his gloves and pinning his throbbing knuckles against the wood. So much for a low profile, she couldn’t help but think as the two men at her side unsheathed daggers beneath the table. Swords would draw too much attention, but a dagger was just as sharp.

“Fate does not bend to those who have disregard for Her rules,” Layna seethed as her clenched fist opened and her die rolled onto the table, clinking against the die that he had thrown down. A fake, weighted to always land on six. She should have known. Hytherans, even the lowest of the low, would stoop to any means to get what they desired. These men were no exception.

The one with green eyes held a softer grip on his dagger, almost reluctantly, before he took a deep and steadying breath. The other man held no remorse in his grip however.

“I won, now hand over the necklace before I wash this tavern with your blood.”

“That won’t be necessary,” A voice curled around her shoulder. Layna would have turned around if not for the dagger that pressed into her leg under the table. Only one dagger, she realized with a glance at the green-eyed man. He refused to look at her.

“And might I ask, who it is you are?” A hand on her shoulder was enough for Layna to begin trembling. At her side there was a solid, calming presence that pressed into her as if drawing her near.

“An escort,” that calming presence said in a low, rumbling voice that reminded Layna of distant thunder. It was still soft despite the depth. “For the Lady Ruvenelle of Thornwall.”

Layna finally turned at that, lifting her head to stare up at whoever had come to her aid. His face was obscured by shadows but he was a commandingly, graceful height at her side. She was silently grateful, wondering if this was Lydia’s answer to her mortal prayer.

“Lady Ruvenelle…?” The nameless brunette asked in disbelief, his tone low and skeptical. In a fluid motion, before Layna could stop him, the man at her side pulled the hood of her cloak back.

“Yes, Lady Ruvenelle of Thornwall. And what you’ve asked her to pawn off in this silly game of Fate is a courting gift from her soon-to-be-husband, Lord Colwyn of Cliffrun, so if you’d be so kind as to withdraw from this wager.” Layna was gaping up at the faceless man who merely kept his eyes pinned on the necklace.

“A-apologies my lady, I hardly recognized you with your… attire.”

“Fate does Her bidding in mysterious ways, it would seem,” she said in the most articulate voice she could muster. 

In that moment, she realized her voice was not her own. It was softer, fairer, and somehow juvenile. At her shoulder she failed to see her tumbling red locks, but instead a head of coiled brown hair. The dirt that had marred her scarred hands was now gone as were the roughened signs of her life as a healer and a fighter. She was dainty all over, her chest significantly smaller and her entire being shifted into something else- someone else, entirely.

“Why is it you’d enter a game of Fate for information?” This time the eldest man spoke. Layna tore her eyes from the faceless man and put her gaze on him.

“Boredom, I suppose. My escort and I have lost our way, on our journey back from Cliffrun. While he was securing us safe passage I thought I’d aid him and try my hand at a real game,” Layna felt the darkened silhouette’s fingers dig into her shoulder. Her heart was thundering now, feeling as though it were trying to rip from her chest. There would be time for questions later. For now, she was no longer herself but this woman of noble birth.

“Very well, lady. Try to keep yourself from commoner’s games, or you’ll end up wagering something more precious than a courting gift,” the elder man’s eyes narrowed but in the end he sheathed his dagger and lowered his head, all before rising from the table and departing. Layna watched him stalk out of the tavern with his hand positioned on the pommel of his sword.

“Apologies… my lady,” the green-eyed man said before he followed in suit. The only one left was the brunette who had an indiscernible look on his face, as if trying to see past some illusion.

“Send my regards to your father.”

“Of course,” the faceless man gave a low bow before urging Layna up from her seat. She stood unsteadily on legs that were not her own. From across the room the barkeep gave her impassive looks that set her gaze to the floor. With one final glance back at the seated man, Layna swore she saw a glinting dagger beneath the table, angled directly at her.

The bright light and heating brilliance of morning was almost blinding as the two took a step outside. The other men were nowhere to be seen. Even so, Layna couldn’t catch a glimpse before she was yanked into a nearby alleyway and led through a series of turns and abandoned streets.

After all the corners ceased and no more streets were there to meet them, the two stopped and turned to look at one another. The face that met hers was not at all what she would have believed it to be- no yellowing teeth or crooked smiles, no unwashed hair or dirt smeared lines. He was a young man who seemed fitfully in the prime of his youth.

Ice-colored eyes turned inquisitive as he stared at the girl whose face had hardened with a frown, one that was worn as a warning to the man before her. Layna had failed to take note that she was back to the familiarity of her mortal body, or that her hair was once more a fiery shade of red.

“My necklace,” were the first words out of her mouth as she extended her muddied hand, the other one placed indignantly on her hip. He had taken it from her when ushering her from the tavern.

“Why wager something so valuable?”

“That’s none of your concern,  _ escort _ . Hand it over. Now.” A humored smirk tugged at the corner of his mouth. He took a pace back, folding his arms over the black cloak he wore as he lounged against the end of the alleyway. The white stone walls offered a brilliant contrast to the darkness of his clothes, the midnight shade of his hair, and the gleam in his eyes.

“Very well,  _ Lady Ruvenelle _ ,” he tossed the chain over before Layna careened to snatch it.

“Who are you?”

“You could start things off with a ‘thank you’, but I suppose that works as well,” he ran his fingers through the full length of his black hair before pushing off the wall and standing tall. “Call me Keir. And your name?”

Layna, in a moment of forgotten desperation, turned away from Keir and braced her hands on the sides of a barrel, the contents being days worth of rain water. She could see her reflection-  _ her  _ face and not the face of some other. It took her a moment to settle back into her body before snarling and stalking up to the dark-haired man.

“What _ was _ that?” Her frantic breathing only combated the vicious smear of emotions on her face. Keir stood before her, unflinching despite her confused rage.

“A phantasm. I shifted your appearance to resemble that of Felodie Ruvenelle. It’s risky- what you’re doing, parading through Elaria despite your origins.”

“You knew…?” Layna’s fingers instinctively touched the rounded tips of her ears. Keir’s dark hair hid his own but the point peeked through the tendrils regardless. The air grew thick with fear as Layna took an unsteady step back.

“I’m surprised no one has stopped you. Mortals don’t last long in this world. What business do you have here, human?” With the necklace still unclasped in her hand, Layna contemplated turning to run. Would he chase her? Would he force her mortal heart into his possession, as was the desire of every Hytheran? Layna felt her skin grow slick with sweat, making her leathers uncomfortable.

“I’m looking for someone,” Layna said as she squared her shoulders and set her jaw. Swallowing her fear, she tried to not quake against the harsh breeze that blew through the dead end alleyway.

“Aren’t we all,” Keir smiled though the beauty of it was lost on her. She could never find herself admitting to his beauty, not aloud, not even to her trembling soul.

“My sister. I’m looking for my sister. She was taken- unwillingly  _ stolen _ , by your people. And I’ve come to find her.”  A dark eyebrow, reminiscent of a streak of spilled ink, rose in interest.

“And how do you aim to find her? Elaria is far larger than the mortal realm. She could be anywhere in the Four Kingdoms- and with your mortality seared on you like a branding on chattel, how do you intend on succeeding?”

“I don’t need to divulge my plans to you.” Layna took another step back, widening the tense space between them.

“Strike a bargain with me,” Keir offered up his hands as a show of good faith. Layna knew better than to consider a bargain, to consider  _ trusting  _ a Hytheran. Especially after almost losing her necklace to one who opted to use wicked dice.

“You must think me mad to even contemplate striking a bargain. I’d rather slit my own throat than tie myself to you.”

“You aren’t the only one looking for someone. I have business with the elusive leader of a rebellion known as the Drinali. Shadows whisper of a permanent residence outside of Thornwall. Accompany me- journey to Thornwall with me to meet her, and in return I will help you find your sister.”

She didn’t know how to respond. Keir’s eyes were stationed on the necklace clutched in her hand, before they rose to her face. He looked as though he were searching her for something but failed to uncover what he so subtly tried to find.

Layna lifted the necklace to her throat as she quietly backed out of the alleyway. The  _ click  _ of the hinge seemed to echo through the slums.

“I know better than to sell myself to a Hytheran.” The utter disgust in her voice was enough to send Keir reeling. She couldn’t stand to look at him, speak to him, and let alone strike a bargain with him. Layna could do it alone- find Aylia alone. She had to.


	4. Chapter 2

Night set in quickly that day, shrouding the world in a darkness so thick that Layna had difficulty navigating through the unlit streets of the town. It was still nameless to her, and she had no intentions of learning it’s name. She had no intentions of familiarizing herself with any part of Elaria, despite the wild beauty of it all.

Without coin to book a room at an inn, she was left to sleep outside, but that hardly bothered her. Weeks spent in the Hythwood, covered in mud and insects, had prepared her for worse. But even now, as she lounged on a sodden rooftop, Layna quietly missed the Hythwood. She had never known peace like that before- being completely engulfed in a place where she was the only living thing beyond the bugs and plants. It was humbling.

At the heart of the city, Layna could see the town square awash with light, the brilliance warding off the distant darkness and the creatures that lurked within. 

Despite the gentle warmth of spring, a meandering breeze of winter chill sliced the air. Layna hugged the ends of the cloak around her body, shivering against the cool wind and faint voices that echoed from below. 

In the distance came a soothing melody- a soft, feminine voice sang tenderly to a plucked fiddle, the music accompanied by only the mellow hoofbeat of horses and their drowsy riders. Market day was over and the merchants had finally packed up shop and began their trek to the next town.

The smell of the town made Layna miss the mellow, earthen winds of the surrounding forests. The stench of a city was never something she enjoyed, but Layna knew it wasn’t safe for her to reside in the better parts of town where guards paced through the night with sheathed swords. 

She had yet to see a guardsman in the slums- beyond the three at the tavern. Even if their position hadn’t been fully brought to her attention, Layna knew. There was no reason for three men, all groomed and fed, to be hanging around a decrepit tavern. Except if they didn’t wish to have their reputation tarnished as men who drank and gambled- on fixed dice. 

Layna spat off the side of the roof at that thought, that rememberance.

None of what had happened that day made sense. She had devoted hours to combing through the events in an attempt to better understand what had happened, and why. 

Despite running from Keir in that empty alleyway, Layna couldn’t shake his face from her mind. He had just… changed her. Not only her face but her entire body and the way she talked, the way she moved. Without lifting a finger he had transformed her into another being entirely. Layna could not begin to fathom the raw power of Hytheran magic. 

Humans occasionally, though rarely, performed rituals- using special brews and certain chants to create healing potions, to help crops grow, to see minor future events- but never anything like what Keir had done. 

A phantasm. 

Something Layna could only comprehend as shifting the consciousness of others to alter the appearance of one thing, to that of another. No wonder the brunette man in the tavern had given her such an incredulous look. She couldn’t imagine what it must be like to think you see one thing when the next moment it's another thing entirely.

Layna shook her head in an attempt to rid her mind of the thoughts. 

She had spent hours mulling over that morning- how terribly it had all gone. She had gotten no information. Only a shallow bargain that would utilize her mortal ignorance and favor Keir’s immortal wit. He could word the binding phrases to his liking, put a twist on the bargain that could keep her tied to him indefinitely. 

Layna knew she couldn’t risk it.

Her stomach gave a low, rumbling growl. She pressed her hand to the aching soreness in her belly and sighed. She was starving, with no way of getting food beyond stealing or rummaging through waste barrels which she  _ refused  _ to even consider. Stealing it was then.

With that she scaled over the rooftop and slithered her way down a drainpipe until her feet hit the ground below.

She ventured toward the heart of the town, away from the slums and the stench of it all.

Transients passed her without a glance, drink in hand. Wealthy men from the other side of the city had faceless women in scant clothing pressed against the rough walls of nearby buildings. It was reminiscent of a place she had once called home, no longer than a year ago. A place she tried to brush from her memory. Stags Crossing. Her soul grew quiet at the name.

The smell of sweetmeats, baked goods, and fresh produce drew away the darkened thoughts from Layna’s mind. Her stomach pulled her further from the slums and closer to the festivities. 

As she rounded a corner, catching a glimpse of the food stalls and the gurgling brilliance of a tiered fountain, Layna shied away. It would only take one curious glance to set her apart from the rest.

Melting into the shadows, Layna tried to think a way around it.

A few of the stall keepers, tasked with watching over the foods and trinkets, were in similar drab clothes as her own. While few had hair as brilliant as hers, Layna could pinpoint two redheads behind the canopied wooden stalls.

Sneak in, pose as a worker, and run off with a handful of food. It was an easy plan- simple enough that it wouldn’t cause too many issues regarding her morals and honor, something that Layna hated to admit were in short supply on her part. When it came to Hytherans she had no trouble double-dealing or swindling the people who had ruined her.

The music masked the sound of cloth ripping as Layna tore off a small band from her cloak, shrugging the heaping piece of clothing off and stuffing it into the crumbling nook of a building. She would come back for it later- after she had taken what she needed.

With her small strip of cloth, Layna pulled her hair tight and tied it with the looped twill from her cloak. Her hair was positioned to hide the rounded tops of her ears but be tasteful enough to appear as a laboring woman’s attempt to keep her hair from her eyes. Washing the grime away in a nearby barrel, still full of stale rain water, Layna felt essentially normal. 

Her reflection on the water lit gold by the braziers of light was almost pretty. Almost.

The first steps Layna took toward the festivities were unsteady, apprehensive, but when a few eyes turned her way she felt poise take hold. With a head lifted high, Layna ducked beneath a nearby threshold and maneuvered behind the multitude of faceless people who were working the stalls.

“Oi!” A voice called, at which Layna turned and schooled her features into a mask of annoyed indifference, nothing more than a worker held at bay from a demanding task. “Who are you?”

“Layna,” she tried to reply over the cacophony of music, laughter, and dancing. Whatever this festival was, it was unmatched in mirth.

“Ena?” The voice, belonging to a matronly woman with graying hair, yelled back. Before she could respond, Layna was handed an empty plate of what would have been pies. The honed gaze from the man who had handed them to her was enough to send her on her way, following a trail of discarded papers and fallen pastries. Layna passed the matron with her head bowed low.

The trail let her into one of the nearby buildings- a bakery where handfuls of bakers and chefs were throwing food onto plates, uncooked pastries into brick furnaces, burnt pieces into nearby bins. 

It was utter chaos and all around her people screamed for her to move and grab another plate.

Take a plate, head out and never look back. But how long would a plate of pastries hold her? She needed real food; vegetable stews, loaves of bread, platters of meats and roast chicken and seared fish. Not… brilliantly colored finger foods loaded with sugars and jams.

“Get a move on!” A young girl, seeming not a day older than Layna, screamed as she slammed into her and sent a platter of pastries flying. The girl’s hair was a muted shade of red, not as vibrant as her own, but still full and beautiful. 

Layna gave no response, instead dropping down to the floor and scooping up the lightly damaged foods.

“I’ll take this to the back,” her voice felt like a whisper despite how loud she spoke. The girl simply sneered and stepped over her, only to offer an insulting remark to another faceless girl nearby. Layna’s cheeks were warm but she ignored the contempt and scurried through an opened back door.

Floor food. She had eaten worse, survived on less, and had no qualms with eating dirt covered tarts if it meant her stomach would no longer churn in agony.

The cool air of night was a calming embrace compared to the hectic screams of the heated bakery. No one paid her any mind as she skipped down the steps and rushed past.

Not until she rounded a corner and found the matron standing before her, the woman’s arms larger than Layna’s thighs. She had her arms crossed over her barrelling chest with an adamantine look in her eyes.

“Ena, you say? Something about that name sounds familiar.” The woman tilted her head as she took a huffing step forward. Layna responded with a step back.

“Can’t have little rats like you rummaging through  _ my _ food stall. And to think you’ve stolen from us when you should be celebrating the mercy of our fair queen, on the eve of her birth. All you street urchins are the same- extend a hand only to have you lot carve it off.”

“These fell on the floor. I was simply disposing of them.” Her matter-of-fact reply wasn’t at all what the matron was looking for. The woman’s nostrils flared in the melting light of the bakery, swaths of candlelight pouring out into the alleyway.

“Rubbish bin is that way, dearie, not over here.” Though she spoke the words with faux fragility, Layna could see the ire in her eyes. If she had been human Layna would have pinned her at the graying age of fifty, maybe sixty if she had aged well. 

“Your face isn’t familiar- and I know many faces. I don’t think you’re from Maas,” the assessing look in her gaze was not one that brought Layna comfort. She writhed under the weight of the woman’s stare.

Layna’s attention shifted to peer over the matron’s shoulder. She was gauging just how much of a chance she would have to outrun the woman. While she looked powerful, Layna was a counterpart of agile swiftness.

Take the risk and make it to the slums. 

Her heart began pounding though she felt body go still. Not a single inch of her trembled under the weight of the woman’s stare.

In a split moment Layna was on the move, sprinting forward and ducking under the startled arms of the matron. The woman let out a disgruntled cry, heaving every inch of her massive body toward Layna in an attempt to reach her. 

When the feat proved impossible, she screamed for a city guard. Layna had forgotten to take the guardsmen into account. Was it that important to the stall keeper?

That didn’t matter. All that mattered was getting away from the heart of the city and into some untouched, unlit alley where she could devour the platter of tarts. They smelled delicious despite the light dusting of dirt from the bakery floor.

Layna passed by her hidden cloak but made no move to grab it- she could easily come back for it later.

Maas. That was the name of the town. Not that Layna cared, but it would prove useful for when she planned to leave the village at sunset the next day. Leaving in the morning meant leaving with every business venture, and departing at noon brought the prospect of other leisurely travellers. Layna preferred to journey on uncrowded streets. 

She just had to wait it out for a little while longer, then she could put this bizzare city behind her.

The sound of boots came from behind not long after.

“Lydia, send me mercy!” Layna quietly cried out to the goddess of mortals. She had responded earlier that day, though her means of an answer were a bit peculiar. She would respond again.

It was a struggle to keep herself upright and the tarts against the platter. Layna silently regretted leaving behind her cloak.

In the darkness of night, a hand reached out and clasped the fitted sleeve of her leather tunic. A muted yelp tore from her lips as she was pulled into nearby shadows. Layna lurched to keep the tarts on the plate.

She struggled against a hand that pressed to her mouth and quieted her breathing. Three cloaked guards hurried past, one of them shouting directions for the other two to follow.

“Keep quiet. You don’t want to know what city guards do to petty pastry thieves.”

The voice in the shadows was familiar, a deep rumble that had put her at ease earlier that day. Now it set Layna on edge as he unclasped his hands and took a step back. 

The pause of silence between them was painfully long- Layna couldn’t speak while she gulped down greedy mouthfuls of air. Keir simply stared at her through the darkness, his eyes brilliant. It was almost like looking up into the stars, twinkling and illuminating in the harshness of a darkened world.

“I can take care of myself,” she growled before turning to head back out into the night.

He spoke with a voice like velour, his tongue as swift as wind when he said, “I didn’t say you couldn’t.” 

“Leave me alone-”

“You despise Hytherans. Why? There’s more to your story, more than the plaintive situation regarding your sister.” Layna slunk back into the shadows and began stuffing tarts into her mouth, wholly ignoring the man before her. Though the baked dough was dry the blueberry and cheese custard filling was enough to have her reaching for seconds, then thirds, and fourths, all until the plate was empty and Layna was wiping her mouth on the backs of her hands.

“I have no desire to tell you anything, beyond the matter that I find your kind to be vile, odious creatures with nothing but hate where they should have hearts.”

“Forgive me if I’m wrong, but you seem to be the only one here with nothing but hate where you should have a heart.” Though his words struck a nerve on Layna, his tone was not indignant as hers had been. No, it was quiet and almost thoughtful, as though he had taken her hatred in and saw it in a different light.

“Would you not hate humans if they had stolen everything from you? Taken away everything you held dear? Stripped you of your freedom? Robbed you of your life? Excuse me if you find my hatred misplaced.” There was a fire burning in her eyes as she discarded the platter and turned to stare him down. Every inch of him blended into the darkness beyond that of his brilliant eyes and the milkiness of his skin. He looked as though he had never seen sunlight.

“My proposal still holds- accompany me to Thornwall and I vow to aid in the rescue of your sister.” Layna gave no response while walking past him, beyond heaving a deep breath and spitting the remnants of the tarts onto his boots before strutting out of the alleyway and toward the slums.

When she looked back he was gone, as though he had melted into the shadows. Good riddance, Layna couldn’t help but think as she put her head down and moved on. 

Her stomach didn’t ache for the rest of the night, but an untouchable hollowness in her heart did.


	5. Chapter 3

Layna didn’t sleep that night.

With the demanding orders of the cityguard that fluttered throughout Maas like royal blue moths, it was impossible to rest. The constant footfalls of the guards were enough to keep Layna wilted in a distant corner of some darkened alley, shying away from every silhouette that stopped before the threshold. Even the townspeople spoke in hushed voices as they passed- saying  _ she  _ was here, though Layna didn’t know who  _ she  _ was. 

_ The One Forged in the Fires of Fate _ .

That was what they whispered about. Layna didn’t know what the words meant but she felt as though she had heard them once, long ago, in a different life. It stirred something sleeping deep within her.

A few enraged members of the town, including the matron who passed by her alley a few times that night, filtered through with the guards as they followed their methodical shadows.

Layna didn’t see Keir the rest of that night, or when the first strings of sunlight drifted down over Maas. No, he was nowhere to be seen though he somehow felt near as though he lurked behind every curved corner and broken cobblestone building. Layna could feel the calming rumble of his presence as though it cloaked her. She tried her all to shake it off, along with his words from the night before. They still stuck with her.

She had every reason to hate the Hytherans- why would he speak of her broken heart as though it were her downfall? That pain had strengthened her. That pain had given her reason to rise in the morning, to face her challenges with a clear head. Her hatred was what drove her. Without it she would be… Layna would be nothing. A pretty face with the hands of a healer, not the esteemed figure she had once been back in the life she had left behind. She  _ needed  _ the pain, or else she would be someone's wife or, gods forbid, a mother.

Pushing the thoughts from her mind, Layna finally emerged from the alleyway. Morning had shifted and passed, leading way to the heady warmth of the afternoon. Maas had uncharacteristically calmed from the witch-hunt of that night, though the streets were completely empty. The only movements came from stray animals, the fluttering of discarded pamphlets, and the dust that picked up in the low lying breeze.

Not even a murmur came from the surrounding streets. Something was happening, and as Layna scaled a nearby home she saw it all evolve. 

In rippling, uneven strokes of some earthen paintbrush, Layna saw the city of Maas unfold before her. The city was one that had developed over time, awarding it with winding streets and chaotic dead ends. But beyond that, the sight at town square held her breath.

Gallows.

Even from her trembling stance atop a home she could see the characteristic ropes, muted strips of white that shimmered over the dark brown hues of the town.

“No,” she breathed as she watched three figures being corralled atop the gallows. Was it her fault? Layna didn’t know. Some instinctive part of her cried out despite her loathing of Hytherans. 

Though it had been years since she had practiced the art of healing, Layna was a sworn healer, held to an oath of virtue. Lydia was her goddess, the protector of her life as Layna watched over her children. Lydia, Goddess of Mortals, Mercy, and Healing. Layna was nothing more than a vessel for Lydia’s celestial work. She couldn’t abide by the death of these people. Their howling screams and pleading prayers could be heard from where she stood, along with the jeering of the towns people.

Burn them. Hang the rebels. Bleed in Criedell.

Clambering down from the building, Layna hit the ground with a bone shattering  _ oomf _ and began running. She didn’t know what she would do or how she would navigate a crowd as large as that, but she had to.

Bleed in Criedell. Hang the rebels. Burn them-

Burn them. Burn…  _ her _ . Layna had heard those words before. Burn her. They were branded into her skin and still to this day seared into her. Burn her. 

Layna pushed back against her tears and rushed to townsquare, forgetting the ache in her stomach that had returned. 

Hang the rebels. Layna had heard those words as well. Hang the rebels. The image of the man who raised her, the father of Aylia and Tamis, the man who had called himself her father as well, flashed in her mind. A man with the healing gaze of a physician, a man who spoke with his honor and not his words, a man who lived to please the Goddess Lydia, a man who had fought for her freedom and her country. Anrel Stuart. Hang the rebels. Anrel Stuart, no longer moving as he dangled from the end of a white rope. Anrel Stuart, the only father she had ever known.

Layna could feel the breath in her throat turn to glass as it pierced her lungs. The pain meant nothing.

Bleed in Criedell. Tamis Stuart- the one she had called brother, the one she had trained beside, the one who had showed her how to toss throwing knives and had fought alongside her in their battle against Orwynn Greaver. Tamis. Her brother. Gutted before her on the steps of the Hytheran Keep in Stags Crossing where Greaver had made a home for himself. Where Greaver had captured her and taken her in for three unending years of her life. That day, crossing over the steps she never thought to see again, she could still make out the darkened stain where Tamis had bled out.

Layna was at the back of the crowd, struggling to catch her breath as she careened to see the gallows. 

It was too late. She was too late.

A familiar head of light brown hair shifted under the afternoon sun as he waved a hand and all three silhouettes, all three with brilliant red hair, fell victim to the ropes. 

A young boy, who looked no older than thirteen, struggled against the rope as he clawed for air. Beside him was another boy, though he neared closer to sixteen. His neck snapped with a chilling sound. The final martyr was a young woman- the girl that had thrown the insult at Layna during the celebration the night before. She held on the longest, tears streaming down her reddening face as she tried to fight death. A moment later, her body was limp.

Layna felt her knees grow weak. The crowd cheered in response. Wisps of cooling, darkened air breezed past and seemed to caress her trembling skin. Almost as if a hand was tenderly pressing against her.

“Today, good people of Maas, you have stood witness to our first move against Ena Drinalis! Today, you have leant a hand to the first winning act in the ongoing war against the Drinali and their wretched rebellion!” Layna was stumbling now. The voice that spoke was that of the cityguard from that day in the tavern. He stood up there with that laughing look in his eyes and a wicked smile. The people cheered at his words.

“We have caught word that Ena Drinalis is here, here in our lovely city. If Ena Drinalis is in fact here, then she has lain witness to this execution and done  _ nothing _ ! What is a leader if she cannot even save her own people?” The man thrust up a swath of brown cloth. Layna paled at the sight. It was her cloak, the one she had stashed away the night before.

“This cloak belongs to Ena Drinalis! Evidence of her being here in Maas! Should anyone-  _ anyone _ , find a young woman with brown eyes and red hair, they are urged to find a member of the guard. Anyone who aids in the capture of Ena Drinalis will be rewarded handsomely by the Royal Crown for their contribution to the wellness of the Vauclain House!”

Layna felt bile rise in her throat.

Red hair- a harsh wind whipped through the town square, sending curling tendrils of her hair waving past. A fiery beacon, a red flag on the field of battle. A few eyes at the back of the crowd turned at the sight.

Brown eyes- Layna lifted her wavering hands to touch the bottom lashes of her brown eyes.

“Mother above,” she whispered before taking an unsteady step back. “I’ve been… I’ve been framed…” Layna’s panicked looks fell over the crowd, meeting with a brunette gaze from atop the gallows. 

A few more glances turned her way until a voice from the crowd cried out, “Ena! It’s Ena Drinalis!” 

On the scaffold the brown-haired guard was smiling down at her. He recognized her. He had known, all along, that Lady Ruvenelle had not taken passage through Maas.

Layna, cursing with a foul tongue, turned on her heels and began running. Her legs ached but she ran, and ran, and ran until the barked orders of the brunette guard were lost.

“Get her!” The crowd had screamed.

“Don’t let her get away,” the main guard instructed. With that, footfalls were after her once more. Silently she prayed, not for Lydia, but this time for Keir. He had saved her twice now and no matter how much she hated the thought of him, she needed him. She couldn’t do this alone, not now. How could she find Aylia if word spread that  _ she _ was Ena Drinalis?

Rounding a corner, Layna cried out at the sight before her. Six guards, all armed to the teeth, all readily awaiting the one wrong move that would bring her to them. She skidded to a halt, dust spraying behind her as she caught herself.

“Nowhere to run now, Drinalis,” another familiar voice- it was the eldest voice from that morning in the tavern. A beautifully aged face came forward, causing her heart to sink down into her stomach.

“I-I’m not,” Layna was gulping down air, “I’m not Ena Drinalis!” No one listened. The crowd of guards closed in on her like a pack of spear-tipped wolves. It had been over a year since she had last fought, and even so she was without her weapons. Layna scornfully remembered back to that first night in the Hythwood when a gurgling pit of mud had eaten all of her supplies; weapons and medicine bag included.

“Hold your tongue Drinalis, the goddess Kresen doesn’t take kindly to those who lie. Keep honest and maybe the Mother will lend you passage to her realm- that is, if Hermosa doesn’t claim you for herself first. What that wicked goddess would do for a weapon of chaos such as yourself,” the elder man was circling her, the darkened hues of his eyes watching her closely, sensing the shifts of her meager body. Even if Layna wished to fight, she simply lacked the strength.

“Take her. The king would be pleased with such an auspicious gift,” the man ordered as three guards moved in to grab her. Layna would  _ not  _ be taken, not again, not by another Hytheran king who would toy with her and dangle freedom before her like gold on an iron string.

In a swift flurry of movement Layna ducked from their grappling hands and attempted to maneuver her way through the sea of spears and nocked arrows. She should have understood the uselessness of her actions, but Layna would rather risk death than capture. It was not an option, not anymore.

The elder guard screamed for the men behind him to rush for reinforcements and iron chains- something that Layna knew would have no effect on her. She was a mortal and iron would not bite her skin, would not subdue her magic because she was without any. The three guards before her lurched to grab her, one of them pricking her with his sword and drawing blood from her thigh. Layna barked in pain but the swords were all sheathed after the guard requested that she be kept alive.

When Layna hopped back to reassess her position among the men, a hand reached out to snatch her. Instead, the gloved fingers found respite with the golden chain around her neck. Layna felt the pressured tug of the thin chain before it snapped, the entire pendant shattering with it. In a steadied moment of calm, she watched it unfold. 

The chain broke apart, the blood-colored ruby coming loose from inside the pendant before the whole thing crumbled beneath the weight of a guard’s boot. Layna collapsed on the ground, unaware of the pain in her neck where the chain had snapped.

That same rush of energy cascaded around her as it did in the tavern, her body feeling woefully strange and foreign in response to losing the only thing left that reminded her of home. Layna felt outside of herself as she watched the ruby bounce on the cobblestoned path. All around her the guards made to grab her once more, unaware of the shift that had just taken place.

But before their hands could touch her it all stopped. Through an eddying darkness from behind, a familiar spray of blackened wind and rumbling calm came a presence that she had felt now for the third time. Lifting her gaze from the shattered pendant, her hand closing tightly in a fist, Layna found herself staring up at Keir.

His face, once a milky white, was now sprayed with blood, like some macabre display of red freckles. Beneath him wilted the eldest guard, his body crumpling in a bleeding heap.

With a tender gaze, he smiled at Layna.


	6. Chapter 4

The vision couldn’t be wiped from her mind.

Layna had seen men die before, and had trained with Tamis to inflict that same fate on Hytherans, but she had never… 

In a memory that was already growing hazy in her mind, Layna saw Keir stepping over the guard’s lifeless body as he offered out a hand. For some unspoken reason the other guards were motionless around them. It was almost as if the world had stopped, despite the breeze that Layna could feel filtering through Maas. When her trembling fingers had touched his she had felt nothing but pure, raw darkness consume her.

And when the darkness faded away, she was in a different place. The edge of the city where crumbling stone walls marked where the town ended and the forest began. It was not the place she had entered, but the place that she had planned on using when departing from Maas. And standing beside her was Keir.

Neither of them spoke or moved, despite the frantic voices that rose from the depths of the town. It took Layna a long while to come back to herself, to ground her mind and remember that she had a body and a soul, bound together. Keir allowed her all the time she needed to fade back into herself. But when she did, Layna scrambled to her feet and gawked at sight before her.

Something had changed. Something deep within her, some forgotten part of her, flickered awake.

The world was… overwhelming. Breathtaking. Despite the carnage and the traumatic remembrances of the past, Layna saw the sprawling forest before her and felt tears in her eyes.

The world was brighter, clearer, and more vibrant. She could hear the voices of the townspeople undoubtedly and the smell of Maas was a more extrusive stench than before, so much so that she held her breath. 

Everything  _ felt _ different.

She had grown taller, though not by much. Keir was still a towering height at her side, but she felt unsure of herself and her movements. And though her features were still the same, they felt finer and more pronounced. The sallowness of her face remained, as did her meagerness and prominence of her bones, but she was different. Trembling, glancing down at her slender fingers, Layna felt for her ears. They were no longer rounded.

“T-Turn me back,” she begged. A phantasm. This was one of Keir’s phantasms- he had shifted her into a Hytheran, a version of herself that was immortal and not at all reminiscent of the human she was within.

“And have you pose as a human? It won’t be long before word spreads- Ena Drinalis having been spotted in Maas, a young woman with red hair and brown eyes. If you were captured and they found you to be a mortal, there would be no chance of escape.” He spoke as if she were simply wearing a mask, a different garment of a finer fabric. Layna was still trying to fit her soul back into this new body.

“Turn me back!” Layna was desperate. She couldn’t live like this- in a body that encompassed everything she hated, a body that crafted her into the bane of her own existence.

“You owe me three life debts. Think of this as erasure for one of them.”

“Erasure- life debts...? This is what you’re worried about?” Layna pushed the issue of her new Hytheran form into the back of her mind, ready to dredge that up at a later time.

“Immortals hold life in high regard. To us, life debts are not something granted with lightly, without purpose. We don’t save the lives of others on a whim. You owe me life debts, and I intend for you to pay them. Though I would prefer for them to be paid in a fair and mutual agreement.” He spoke as though it were a business venture. Layna was almost speechless.

“And what of this first debt? Do you believe it to have been paid fairly, despite my lack of agreement?” Keir’s eyes, an indiscernible shade of blue, stared down at Layna as though he were staring at a hotheaded child. The tender gaze and calming words he had spoken on their first two encounters were lost in his visible annoyance.

“Me shifting you into a Hytheran could  _ easily  _ be worded into another life debt, totaling you at a staggering rate of four debts. Innumerable life debts, to be in fact, as this new skin will keep your death at bay for as long as I will it. For your sake, and the sake of the goddess who accrues these debts, I’ve generously cut back what you owe me to two.”

“Generously,” Layna scoffed as she rolled her neck and set her jaw. “And what of… saving my life from the guards last night? How will I pay for that?”

Keir’s unapologetic gaze made Layna’s heart shutter. A wicked part of her whispered out what her payment would be, and though she knew she didn’t want to accept it. She didn’t want to face it.

“By accepting my bargain. In a fair,  _ mutual _ agreement.” Keir had taken a step forward, and though nothing in his voice was cold or apathetic, the words themselves were enough to tear Layna in two. She was going to be forced to take this bargain- was it the mortal goddess that had done this? As payment for everything Layna had asked for, for her ungratefulness and inability to abide by her oaths as a healer?

Layna’s eyes flickered shut as she sucked in a deep, steadying breath. She was to give up herself in payment for a life debt she never desired. And though she knew she would have been suspended from a rope on the gallows if it were not for Keir, she couldn’t help but feel contempt.

“And what of the final life debt?”

“I’ll accept payment when the time is right,” he said in a distant voice, as though he could see into the future when that payment would be needed. Layna turned and gave a long glance at Maas. She was grateful that she would no longer have to see the city that had forcefully bound her to the Hytheran male that stood before her. 

Layna lifted her gaze back to Keir and in a solid, graceful movement, dipped her head.

“I accept your bargain- but not as payment for this life debt.” Keir let out an audible breath of surprise. 

Layna’s steadying glare was one of molten fire and earthen rage. It only deepened as she said, “I accept your bargain, because now I have a bone to pick with Ena Drinalis. And I’ll need your help.”

The look on Keir’s face teetered between bewilderment and unease. Her tone of voice was enough for him to know that she wasn’t bluffing- Layna would travel with him to Thornwall, if only to bleed Ena Drinalis dry for the time wasted, for a hardened journey only made more arduous. Aylia couldn’t wait forever. Every second spent in Elaria was precious, but this was something Layna  _ had  _ to do.

“This means you owe me two lives.” Layna’s lack of response was enough to indicate that she knew this. In a shuddering moment, Keir bowed his head. “Very well. To seal the bargain, you must give up your most prized possession. A symbol to the goddess of our-”

Layna opened her clenched fist before him. Inside resided the blood-ruby that had once sat in her golden pendant; the gem that seemed to pulsate with the soul of her mother. Keir silently stared at the jewel, transfixed by it. The look in his eye was one that Layna could not read but she saw a flickering smile on his lips as he took it and sealed it away.

“And for you-” Keir dug around under his cloak, his motions hastened after the sound of shouting guards drew closer. They wouldn’t have long before night fell upon the realm, drawing out torches, trained guards, and scent hounds that could track them for miles. They needed to move. Layna felt cool metal in the palm of her hand, the weight of it enough for her hand to drop slightly.

“A blade?” Steel, though well crafted as she pulled the knife from it’s small, metallic scabbard. It was very, very well crafted- something made for a prince or a king.

“A dagger, given to me by… someone very important. It’s my most prized possession. Treat it with care, please.” Layna hardly heard him as she studied the blade. It was polished, honed, and scarred with knicks that had been obtained years before Keir, though Layna could only guess as she had no definitive age for him. 

Her eyes drifted to the hilt and pommel, intricately carved and engraved with winding branches of oak, all surrounding a knot in the midst of the grip that showed the letters of some long forgotten insignia. On the pommel, embellished into the rounded metal, was a three-headed bird.

After sheathing the blade once more, Layna found herself drawing her fingers over the floral branches and blossoms engraved into the scabbard, a plain sheath with a rounded tip and two buckles on each side for someone to fasten it to a belt or even their thigh as a hidden blade. A jeweled crown was surrounded by more oak branches, and on a knot below resided more archaic letters, though they were worn away with age.

“O-of course,” Layna said with a hint of chagrin as she realized that Keir was awaiting a response. It felt nice, comforting almost, to be in possession of a blade. Her feelings of helplessness subsided enough to mask her contempt.

The sounds of howling brought Layna a few steps away from where she had once stood as she began buckling the dagger onto the belt that did nothing to hold her trousers onto the meagerness of her frame. They were already deploying the scent hounds.

“I think it’s time we leave Maas behind,” and with that the two rushed from the outskirts of the city, Keir not even giving a second glance to the main road as he ducked into the sparse woodlands that surrounded the dirt pathway.

Keir was as liquid as night, moving swiftly and soundlessly. It was difficult for Layna to keep up- this body was not her own. And yet… that slumbering part of her had roused at the feeling of entering this form. It almost felt more natural than that of her human skin, as though she had been locked away in too small of a cage. And though Layna refused to admit it, she felt free for the first time in years.


End file.
